


Most Certifiably Married

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, a sketch of a murder scene where everyone feels guilty but no one committed the crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Certifiably Married

The scene amused the press more than the horror of the crime terrified them and that emotional quirk, Hilde decided, was the greatest tragedy. No one, no matter how disliked, deserved to be strung up dead next to his own advertisement billboard: Don't Get Caught in the Ropes!

Treize Kushrenada had been one of the best divorce lawyers in the country. One example among hundreds, his firm had monopolized on the Dorlian vs. Yuy scandal in such a fashion that the war hero had to pawn his assortment of badges and trophies to afford enough alley space for his cardboard box home. When friends had offered to give Yuy financial support, Treize brought them low under his judicial fist. His network of sources crossed the globe, infiltrating every seedy basement and golden palace. Those he called friends, in the most loose definition of the term, basked in his favor and those who were considered enemies considered being skinned alive a more bearable alternative.

The crowds pushed into the barricades. Flashes of camera light illuminating the shine of their greedily observant eyes in the otherwise grey and overcast dawn.

"I heard it was a disgruntled wife taken for 15 grand."

"Please, that's nothing--even in this region of the state."

"I heard it was one of his own staff."

"Lovers spat?"

"Wouldn't marry her!"

"Or he caught them skimming. Trust me, follow the money."

Hilde walked up to a taller dark figure who managed to keep his back turned toward her, shifting his weight from foot to foot in an elusive dance, until she forcefully tugged him around by his jacket sleeve. His hands spread wide in protest, one holding a spiral notebook and the other, a pen.

"What?" Nichol protested. His lips wrestled together as his jaw tossed like a restless sleeper, lose and mobile on his unshaven features, but no further words manifest as he calculated her expression. He bit the skin sore and red while his eyes fixed to stare on some distant point. She'd worked with him before and knew him to struggle with currents of raging insecurity and bashfulness under his prickly exterior. He huffed a sound that might have been an apology.

"I'm done taking pictures. Do you need me for something else, officer?" The strap of the camera around her neck often comforted her like a familiar extension of herself. That morning she longed to shrug it off, take off her clothes and wallow in a long, hot shower. The mists swirled around and between them as if the people were wading on land.

"Moral support?" Nichol quietly chuckled. Hilde smiled in response. Things between them were easy if not honest. He wasn't laughing at the circumstances. She wasn't smiling at them either. They were both friends simply doing their jobs.

"How about some advice? Go home..." Hilde put an edge of conspiracy in her lower register. Nichol leaned in to hear her say, "Find that half empty bottle of scotch from last weekend and don't stop until it's _gone_."

He tugged away with his head tilting back as if a trapped animal suddenly released. The wind caught the fringe of hair poking out from his regulation cap and tousled the curled tips. He put a hand over his mouth and pulled the flesh down from mirth into an expression of regret. "Maybe it is about time I toss that bottle out. Finish it up. Let go."

"We've both been nursing our wounds for too long." Hilde pointedly did not look at the corpse.

He told her to get lost and Hilde went home.

The house didn't feel like home for a long time. She stopped the car while still in the driveway and stared through the droplets on the window to the muted red door and the simple grey brick. The curtains were pulled shut so tightly they didn't betray if anyone had bothered to leave a light on or not.

Resigned to her already damp condition, Hilde stepped out and gathered her equipment. At least it had some protection in it's assortment of cases. She wiped at her nose responding to the itch of pooling rainwater on the tip.

The stones of the walkway curved from the drive to the front entrance. She let her hand slip from the moist doorknob and bent over to pick up the plastic wrapped newspaper. Bemused, Hilde let her thumb run along the coarse edges made by an excessive number of rubberbands.

The warmth of air from inside the house reached out to wrap around her. As Hilde straightened, and the bundles she carried by straps resettled on her level shoulders, the man in the doorway spoke few words, but when he did they were important. "Welcome back. How was work?"

She stepped inside, set down her supplies, and ticked her tongue when she saw he'd once again failed to toss out the wilted roses from the vase by window.

"It made me miss you." She wrapped her arms around his neck and relaxed when he held her in turn.

Hilde thought about how often she'd wanted to give up. To hurt someone else, this person, for what she thought had been done to her. And what _had_ been done to her. The mistakes and the shouting. The day the electricity had shut off because they'd both been stupidly stubborn. And it had never been about the money.

She certainly hadn't loved him for his money.

And now that Treize was dead, no one would care who Heero Yuy married next.


End file.
